


Widow's Kiss

by Samara_Vellano



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Farting, Growth, Weight Gain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:33:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23685472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Samara_Vellano/pseuds/Samara_Vellano
Summary: Widowmaker comes down with complications after a procedure, and Symmetra happens to be the one to make those problems come to the surface.
Relationships: Satya "Symmetra" Vaswani/Widowmaker | Amélie Lacroix
Comments: 1
Kudos: 10





	Widow's Kiss

The cold never bothered Amélie, even before her transformation into the icy-hearted assassin Widowmaker. How fortunate, as it’s become her saving grace after an ill-fated genetic treatment by her shadowy handlers. The injections were meant to grant her some boon; she recalls hearing about ‘conscious genetic realignment’...but things went considerably wrong.

It wasn’t until the next day that she awoke, only to be briefed on just how things had veered off course. Instead of the intended goal, Amélie’s body is...a bit of a ticking time-bomb now. If certain conditions are met, then her slim, elegant dancer’s physique and classical beauty will warp and bloat into a gravid-bellied, jiggly-thighed, **fat** wreck of a person. Anything more than that, they weren’t able to tell her—other than the trigger for such an unseemly transformation.

Heat. Her one saving grace; Talon’s earlier handiwork rendered her body as chilled as the dead. So long as she operates in frigid climates until they work out a cure, then she’ll be none the worse for wear. Fortunately, there’s a rabble-rousing politican in Finland that needs eliminating…

Three Days Later 

Amélie’s been as still as a statue for the past half hour, watching the same spot on the same building through her rifle’s scope. The chilling winds atop her perch only amplify her attentiveness...although ultimately, what alerts her to a change is her Venom Mine being destroyed. She had placed it at the top of the staircase leading to this building’s roof, so for someone to destroy and not trigger it…

The moment the door to the rooftop swings open, a trio of shots ring out exactly where the intruder’s torso would be. Instead of sinking into soft flesh and delivering a mortal wound however, they merely dissipate into plasma as they impact a barrier. It’s emanating from the robotic arm of a woman who hardly looks like security—at least, for the municipal building Amélie’s staking out on. Too steadfast, too well-equipped—and frankly, too attractive for merely a hired guard. Amélie’s only updated with relevant knowledge for her mission—and what are the odds that Satya Vaswani would be so far from any Vishkar holdings? “You’re either very confident...or very foolish to let me get so close. Allow me to demonstrate why...” Satya utters in a low, musical voice; one that oozes surety—after all, the outcome is already determined in her mind.

Talon’s top assassin isn’t perturbed by this unknown before her, however. Already her mind’s figured out the way to approach this threat—she’s just settling on the direction. Eschewing her rifle, Amélie artfully cartwheels past Satya, voluptuous thighs arcing above her head...and bringing a heel down at the woman’s waist through the now-useless barrier.

If only that first gambit had worked. To Amélie’s great frustration, this dusky agent—or whatever they are—is quite capable in hand-to-hand combat...and currently has her quite literally with her back against the wall, with that energetic weapon of Satya’s pointed right at her.

“Your skills are above most, I must admit,” Satya says, still catching her breath, “But sadly, not up to par. I had hoped that Talon’s femme fatale would be more...impressive, at the very least.” Nothing more was said by her, and her photon projector snaps open as a beam of energy spears out towards Amélie.

It only grazes the curvy assassin; she may not be able to dodge light, but she still saw Satya’s grip tighten—that was warning enough. No, the majority of that beam strikes what was right behind Widowmaker...a steam pipe venting the building’s exhaust out into the sky. Vapors and air hotter than a sauna gushes out from the hole, enveloping much of the rooftop as the temperature quickly raises higher...far too high for a certain frenchwoman’s condition to endure.

Amélie immediately felt a tautness in her bowels as the hot air washed over her; so suddenly that she was sent off-balance, falling to the rooftop face-down as she cradles her stomach. “ _Bon sang_ , _non_!” she exclaims with clear anguish, all too aware of what this sudden onslaught of heat means. Satya approaches with caution, still keeping her projector trained on Amélie as she watches the previously cocksure, emotionless sharpshooter groan and writhe...the reason soon becoming apparent, as the azure woman’s voluptuous backside rips out a seconds-long bout of fetid, unreasonably loud ass-gas.

The heat of the remaining steam only makes the stench worse, and Satya can’t help but recoil as the stench sears her nostrils—this can’t be a trick of some sorts! What kind of purpose would it have? This is just...a bizarre woman, who’s...growing?! “ _Non, arrête de grandir; s'il te plait_ …" Amélie pleas, ultimately in vain as her backside starts to plump up before Satya's very eyes. By the second, it spills outwards, further distorting the lines across her bodysuit...but that isn't the only part of her filling out! Her thighs have less and less of a gap by the second; that ballerina's waist quickly softens and widens, growing squeezably plush, while her taut tummy rather quickly becomes a pudgy, cushioned curve pressing against the rooftop. Her breasts, formerly slender and perky grow full and pendulous, straining her shiny suit ever closer to the breaking point. It's as if an invisible nozzle is shoved in the thickening assassin, pumping her ever-fuller like one might fill a pastry with jelly.

Yet as much as she's packed with fresh fat, her bowels expel wave after wave of rump-rippling farts, at such a rate that she's starting to blow the remaining steam cloud away with the force of her gut-wind alone! To say nothing of the stench...and poor Satya's enduring the worst of it as she makes up her mind—pitifully bloated, flatulent wreck or not, this is still the famed Widowmaker. For all she knows, this could be some sort of...sick distraction or something—and they're still out in the open!

Satya reaches down to Amélie, grabbing the now _very_ generously endowed woman by the waist as she hoists her up—eliciting a particularly loud blast of fumes from between those fattening cheeks...and a rather lewd moan from the assassin's saliva-slickened lips. The smell alone...it's not so much horrible as it is **strong** . Each breath Satya takes burns her nostrils a little more, and wracks her brain with the sheer, primal stench of that seeping odor...'Is she _enjoying_ this?' 'How could she possibly like what's happening to her?' and similar thoughts course through Satya's mind as she brings Amélie, who by now has quite clearly entered 'overweight' territory, to sit on her billowing cheeks. She doesn't put up any fight, instead staring up with half-lidded eyes at Satya as her hands drift down beneath the ever-thickening swell of her soft belly, dislodging loose gravel that's embedded in that too-soft flesh as she finds her target—her plush groin, nestled deep between her thunderous thighs. "So warm...so full...what do you think, _mon chéri_? You can touch, mmf...anywhere you'd like~" Amélie purrs, punctuating her brazen flirting with a light grunt as she actively forces a particularly loud ass-clapping blast of gas against the rooftop, locking eyes with her ebony-skinned captor.

Perhaps it's a combination of Amélie's stifling, noxious gas or Satya merely being overwhelmed by such a garish display of whorish delight by the assassin famed for being an emotionless killer, but she's rather careless in handling her overly chubby captive. She tries to speak, but the words to properly address such a depraved situation are lost on her. She doesn't think to bind Amélie, nor does she consider the fact that in the stairwell she came up through...it's a rather enclosed space.

Those billowing fumes seem to magnify once Satya's dragged Amélie inside, and the _sound_ ! It echoes in the Vishkar operative's mind, bouncing around just as surely as her prisoner's fat gut jiggles with every gut-busting burst of ass-gas she sprays out between those couch-straining asscheeks of hers! Couch-straining...and clothesbursting, as it finally happens—Widowmaker's iconic bodysuit can't contain her chunky body. With a crackling _**RIP** _ her ass is suddenly bared and seated right on the floor, as her thighs quickly make short work of the stretchable piece of clothing, revealing the entirety of her prodigious belly and pornstar-sized tits, barely concealed thanks to the remnants of her broken suit.

" _Ouh lá lá~_ It looks like there's too much of me to ignore...Come, surely there's some _extensive_ part of me you wish to explore, _vous déesse sombre_?"

"A-Absolutely not, now keep silent—and control yourself! I can't, I can't _focus_ with that noise!"

"Why focus...why keep silent when I have so much in me to let out? Isn't the smell _delightful_ ~?" Amélie croons as she simply lifts one tree-trunk leg off the ground, leaning to the side as her face slackens in a display of orgasmic delight—and the longest bout of gut-rotting, mind-searing fumes spew forth yet. Over a **minute** of non-stop farting fills the small room...along with that mind-bogglingly strong stench, for Satya to have no choice but to endure. With no vents to speak of, and her already addled state from inhaling so much of those fumes it's a losing battle for Satya, as her mind further clouds. The sound of that gas starts to intrude upon her thoughts as clearly as the scent saturates her lungs...and now, her stomach emits a sudden gurgling as it roils up, shoving burgeoning gas down into her bowels.

A sudden gurgling...and faint feeling of tightness around her black leotard worn beneath her flowing garb. Tightness that wasn't there minutes ago..."Stop that noise, st-" Satya growls, taking a step forward as she starts to reach for Amélie, "Plug your hole or I'll do it myself!" she exclaims...along with an equally loud protest from between her darkened cheeks. Long, lingering, gurgling and above all _fragrant_...Satya's ass announces its own gaseous dilemna with a bang, just as she gets down on her knees, a hand on each of Amélie's shoulders. Satya leans in close, eyes wide with a mixure of anger, anxiety and stress, practically shouting in the obese assassin's face. "What did you do!? Why did that just happe-"

Emotionally charged questions turn to loud muffles as the captive locks lips with the captor, Amélie using the strength that still lies beneath her blubbery body to hold Satya in place long enough to shove her tongue into those dark, tight lips. There's a struggle, of course...but for some reason the blatantly sexual act is somewhat lessened in offensiveness to the normally reserved Indian. Indeed, a small part of her mind finds the gentle touch of Amélie's lips and how her growing double chin jiggles just barely against her own chin rather pleasant! And, enough of a distraction for Satya to not be able to even try and hold back the next gut eruption as it vibrates out from her cheeks.

Her thicker cheeks, that jiggle her thicker thighs...it's a realization she has only after she feels fat quake where there was previously relatively little—she's getting heavier. Just like Amélie...

Shaken out of her lusty trance for now, Satya stumbles back from her prisoner, looking down at her previously flat, toned stomach. It's definitely got a curve now...and her breasts are protruding far more than before! She can acftually see them on the edge of her vision—and her form-fitting leotard, those tall stockings of hers...they're far too tight. "No, no—reverse this! Stop whatever you're doing, assassin!"

A warm, airy laugh is Amélie's response. "Oh, _chose douce_ , there's no stopping it anytime soon~ I can't believe I didn't make it happen quicker, this feels _amazing_! Just let it happen, and come put that juicy rear on the spider's lap..." These aren't the measured, coaxing words of a manipulative killer, luring someone to a moment of weakness to sink her claws in deep. No, those were the words of a lusty harlot, so consumed with desire that they care naught for anything else—and it shows in Amélie's longing gaze, and how it dances across Satya's increasingly chubby body.

The poor woman...she can't think—it's too noisy. She can't consider escaping, because of who her captive is. And...she can't keep resisting the urges growing within her loins. How they moisten, the fabric growing tighter by the second as her thighs begin to press together and her belly's curve starts to sag just a little, the doughy flesh jiggling every few seconds as her chair-straining backside trumpets out blast after blast of gas without an end in the forseeable future...so she does the only thing anyone could do in such an unreal situation.

Hundreds of pounds of womanly flesh collides as the air fills with the sound of airy bowels in nigh-perpetual release. Thickening ebony lips smack against beestung indigo kissers, and massive blue melons serve as a heavenly cushion for Satya's near head-sized bosom. Bellies large enough to be pregnant were it not for their cottony softness crash like waves, undulating and quivering as their overladen, airy innards continue their desperate release. Satya's leotard finally gives much like Amélie's bodysuit, snapping with a great _**RIP** _ as the strongest fart from her yet blows her upper garment to the side, displaying the full-and-growing size of her asscheeks—now too large for a mere chair alone. And Widowmaker's? She's almost past the point of two~

Their lusty frolicking causes them to lose track of time, of anything but their own shared pleasures and the mind-melting aroma of their impromptu raunchy sauna. They pass out with barely a thought in their fuzzy heads, silent but for their pair of puckers working overtime to unload their inhuman loads of musky fumes and the gentle snoring of two sated, fat beauties.

Eventually, they're found by Widowmaker's handlers after she failed to assassinate the target—or report in. Talon agents come across the two women sound asleep in the same stairwell, mirror images of one another in terms of size. Asses far too large to even run properly with equally massive, tapering thighs; gravid guts that have _mercifully_ quieted down as their almost unending loads of ass-gas finally emptied out, and of course breasts so large that even if it weren't for their hefty bellies, sleeping on their stomachs would be uncomfortable at best!

The stench of their depraved release is still prominent in the air however, so it isn't long before the first Talon team leaves and a second one with hazmat suits returns—along with a pair of floating, reinforced stretchers. It's a chore loading both of the big, beautiful women onto them, but in short order the peacefully slumbering assassin and the softly snoring operative are secured—and well on their way to a rather...specialized facility. Thanks to the mutual ties between Vishkar and Talon, they'll both be able to keep one another **ample** company while the two organizations figure out how to proceed with the new states of their favored agents...


End file.
